Hello gentle Americans.  Yesterday I went to the dermatologist to have a mole on my back checked.  Since I can remember I have had this little heart shape mole on the lower left side of my back. As far as moles go it was rather attractive and occasionally, I would even have a gentleman caller comment on how lovely it was, as he caressed my milky white shoulders.  This beauty mark (which I much prefer calling it. Mole sounds so third world) was just another notch on the landscape of my body.

Several weeks ago, as I stepped out of the shower, as I began to dry myself off I caught a glimpse of my beauty mark in the mirror; what used to be a small dark spot now looked like a larger grey blotch.  I immediately panicked, thoughts of cancer raced through my head.  To be taken down in the prime of my youth and beauty by a little grey spot would be unfortunate to say the least. Before I began to plan my funeral I decided go to a dermatologist to have it checked, it could be nothing or it could turn out to be everything, leaving my cat, Titty, an orphan.

That same week I found myself in Doctor Gerber’s office.  He came highly recommended by a dear friend. I was told by the lovely assistant to strip down and put on this paper gown until the doctor arrived.  “May I keep my shoes on?”  I gently asked her.  She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “It is up to you.”  I kept them on, my legs look so scrumptious in heels and nothing dresses up a blue paper gown than a pair of Jimmy Choo’s.

Moments later Doctor Gerber entered, a fairly attractive man in his mid forties.  Not my type but I would not throw him out of bed either. “Hello Miss Lettuce.” He said as he extended his hand. “Call me Hedda doctor.” The corner of my moist mouth curling with minor flirtation. “Now let me see that mole of yours.  Nice shoes by the way.”  He snickered as I undid the paper belt and opened up the back to reveal my ample behind, the mole resting a few inches above my left cheek. “What do you think doctor?  Am I going to live?” I said as I arched my back.  “Oh yes Hedda.  The mole seems perfectly normal.  It is also a good sign that it has a few hairs growing out of it.  That usually does not happen in a cancerous mole.”  I was relived but disgusted at the same time.  Hairs?!?  Nothing ages a girl more than a mole with hairs.  Only witches around cauldrons had hairy moles.  Had my youth slipped away, leaving me just a hag waiting for a boiling pot of water? “We could remove it if you like?”  The word, “YES!” popped out of my mouth before I even opened it.  I would have been happy if he gave me a shot of bourbon and took a lit cigarette and burnt it off right there.  “Make an appointment with the receptionist and set up a time and I will take care of it.”    The idea of having to live with this hairy non-cancerous mole one more day was more than I could bear. “Can’t you do something about it today Doctor.  I have a date tonight.”

“I am so sorry Hedda that will not be possible.  The mole is yours for another week.” He laughed as he nodded his head and left the room.

The mole is mine for yet another week. But what would I do about my date later that night?

I raced home, undressed and took a good look at my ‘beauty mark’ in the mirror-and there staring back at me was a penny sized mole with three long hairs poking out of it.  How did I miss seeing those hairs when I looked at it earlier? It resembled a Daddy Long Leg that got the crap kicked out of it.  There were three things I could do: 1) Cover the mole with a band-aid.  But then I would have to make up some story about what happened. 2) Not take off my cloths.  But that’s impossible; I always take my cloths off on a date. 3) Pluck the hairs.  So three it was!

I think gnawing off my leg, trying to free it from a bear trap, would have been less painful.  Those black wiry hairs did not want to let go, but after a few strong tugs they released themselves, as the tears rolled down my cheeks.  Without those hairs the mole returned back into a beauty mark, which I have to say looked rather attractive.  Many stunning women have moles-Cyndi Crawford, Marilynn Monroe and at one point Madonna even had one, though it seemed to roam all over her face.  Maybe all my mole needed was a little TLC, some freshening up from time to time? As a girl get’s older it does seem that everything requires a little more freshening up than it used to, why wouldn’t my mole require the same attention?  I picked up the phone and called Doctor Gerber’s office and canceled my appointment. This wise quote popped up in my head as I hung up the phone,  “To err is human to mole is divine.”

Stay fresh,